


i'm bleeding, i'm not just making conversation

by drunkonyou



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Death, DISNEY PLEASE DON'T READ THIS, Heavy Angst, I am so sorry, M/M, NOT CANON COMPLIANT!!!!!, Not Canon Compliant, poe will NOT die in ros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonyou/pseuds/drunkonyou
Summary: It really was just supposed to be a supply run.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	i'm bleeding, i'm not just making conversation

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this](https://twitter.com/rebeIpoe/status/1187458882274115584?s=19) tweet and [this](https://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/110731939970/person-b-knowing-theyre-undoubtedly-about-to-die) tumblr post
> 
> title from that fucking richard siken bot on twitter. i hate that account 
> 
> dedicated to linds <33333

_“Come back to me, okay?”_

_“You don’t have to say that every time I fly out, Finn. It’s just a supply run.”_

_The hand on the back of his neck tightens, just a little. “Supply run or not, I still want you home safe. I’ll say it every time.”_

_Finn pulls Poe in by the neck and presses their foreheads flush together._

_“And besides. Trouble finds you like a magnet. You could turn a trip to the lav into a shootout.”_

_“Hey,” Poe laughs. But Finn’s right._

Finn’s right most of the time.

It really was just supposed to be a supply run.

The ship he’s been tinkering with for weeks now finally passed its test drive. The planet he was headed to was of a comfortable climate, and the old base that housed the extra supplies he was going for was completely abandoned. He got a new scarf. BB-8 was in good spirits. So was he.

He’s not even halfway into the base when he comes to find it’s not as abandoned as it was supposed to be.

Instead, it seems to be serving as home for a small group of...scavengers? All petite and young-looking with weapons made from scrap. At first glance they remind him of Rey, before they met, and because of that, well, he knows looks can be deceiving.

“Hey, there,” Poe says, sliding his blaster into the holster on his leg and raising his hands above his head. “I don’t mean any harm, guys.”

_This better not take long_, he thinks. _Finn’s waiting for me._

The six scavengers just stare at him like he’s a Wampa in the Dune Sea with their weapons held aloft and their lips curled. Man, are they angry. And very colorful, with their brightly dyed hair (or maybe it was natural?) and even brighter rags. Under literally any other circumstances, he would probably be intrigued. Hell, he is intrigued. He’ll have to hop on the HoloNet when he gets back. Maybe Rey knows them.

Then, the girl at the head of the group with the long green hair and sharp spear-like thing pointed directly at his face opens her mouth and—

Says something in a language Poe doesn’t recognize at all. Fantastic.

She presses the tip of her spear, fashioned from a large shard of twisting, rusted metal, beneath his chin. It's cold. He swallows.

BB-8 chirrups in alarm and shocks the girl on the ankle with a loud _crack_. She yelps and kicks BB-8 in the dome with one bare foot, then withdraws her spear in favor of punching Poe in the mouth like it was his fault. The rings adorning her fingers tear his bottom lip open like they’re brass knuckles and not jewelry.

“Alright, alright!” He presses his new, clean scarf to his mouth and holds his other hand out before him. “We don’t wanna hurt you. My name is Poe Dameron, I’m with the Resistance.”

Head Girl turns to the boy on her right (blue hair, piercings) and says something, then to the person on her left (bald, with very bright orange lips) and says something equally incomprehensible.

BB-8 warbles nervously at his feet.

“You said it, pal. I shoulda brought Threepio.”

Then, in accented Basic but coherent enough, the girl raises her spear again and says, “What iz your biznezz?”

Something like relief sags his shoulders. He drops the scarf, wiping his throbbing mouth on the back of his gloved hand. She sure packs a punch. “This is an old base of ours. I’m just here to get some supplies. I swear.”

Another levelling glare. “We have no allegianze. We belong to no one.”

“That’s fine by me. But if it means anything, I’m one of the good guys.”

A boy towards the back of the group, with an honest-to-Force slingshot, snickers to the boy next to him. The girl with the spear and bejeweled fingers does not laugh.

“Good guyz,” she wrinkles her dirt-caked nose. “No good guyz, if you azk uz.”

“Yeah,” says the person with the orange lipstick. “All bad. No Lightzide. All bad.”

The rest murmur their agreement. Poe swallows again.

BB-8 asks him what they should do. He says he doesn’t know.

He left his comm in the ship.

“I just want some supplies,” he tries again. “Just let me grab them and I’ll be out of your hair—”

“No zuppliez!” A girl with spiky purple hair as sharp as the girl’s spear shouts. Poe thinks she might have a blaster on her, judging by the way she's holding herself. “Thiz iz our home. Not yourz.”

Poe has no argument. What is he supposed to do, _leave_? This is the only planet this side of the galaxy with an old Rebel base on it; he needs these supplies. They’re running low on, well, _everything_. He knows there’s spare fuel and rations and some weapons in here, dammit.

He puts his hands on his hips, his right inching as close as he can to the blaster on his thigh. “Alright. You think there aren’t any good guys? Fine. I won’t be a good guy, then,” he pulls the blaster back out, brandishing it. BB-8 makes a noise like an angry Loth-cat at his ankles. “Now, I’d like to make it home before I start going gray, if you kids don’t mind.”

“_Kidz_,” snarls the boy next to the one with the slingshot. He raises a dagger the length of his forearm. The handle looks like bone. 

They all take a simultaneous step towards him. Poe takes a step back.

“Trezpazzer,” says Slingshot.

“Trezpazzer!” Shouts Mohawk.

_Oh, blast_, Poe thinks.

And then—

Then—

Pain. Like he’s never felt before.

Overlapping voices, in that unfamiliar dialect. He catches snippets of Basic.

“What do we do with him?”

“He’z a trezpazzer. Leave him.”

“That zoundz good. He’ll be nothing but bonez by morning.”

_I’m still here_, Poe wants to say. They talk like he’s dead already. Why are they talking about him like he's dead?

He looks down, and—

Head Girl’s spear is sticking out from beneath his ribs, wedged in so deep the metal is no longer visible.

_Oh_, he thinks belatedly. _Maybe I am already dead._

His eyes close without his knowing, and when they open again, he’s on his back on the dusty ground at the mouth of the base, and the group of scavengers—of _children_ are skipping away, laughing, like the altercation never happened at all. Head Girl is dragging her spear behind her, and the tip is leaving a trail of blood in the dirt.

BB-8 sounds like they're about to combust, and they're rolling around Poe fast enough they may actually start orbiting him in a second.

“Bee, buddy, calm down,” Force Almighty, talking hurts. “I’ve been stabbed before, haven’t I?”

This definitely doesn’t feel like any of the other times he’s been stabbed. This time something feels very, very different.

But that seems to calm BB-8 down a little. They roll right up to Poe’s face and leans down until their photoreceptor is nearly touching his nose. They squawk.

Poe coughs once, twice. Well, that’s never a good sign. “I’m good, yeah. Just. Can you grab the comm from the ship? I wanna let Finn know we’re gonna be late getting back.”

BB-8 speeds away like they were shot from a cannon.

Poe props himself up on his elbows and chances a glance at his gut. 

“Oh. Fuck.”

Blood, so dark it’s almost black, saturates the entire bottom half of his shirt. _Black._ Not good. Something important must’ve gotten nicked. The pain is gone at least, which makes him wonder why he even felt any at all. The other times he’s been stabbed, it felt like getting punched, and the pain never came on until after he got patched up. This felt like…

He has nothing to compare it to. But his gut is numb, so that’s at least familiar. He presses the heel of his left hand to where his shirt is the darkest to stop the blood flow. He doesn’t even feel it.

BB-8 comes hurrying back in a cloud of dust and launches the comlink at him. It lands on his chest.

“Great, thanks. Now let’s—”

His legs don’t hold his weight. His legs don’t have any strength in them at all.

Okay. Maybe...maybe that shard of metal went deep enough to get his spinal cord, or something. Finn got worse way back when, and he’s fine now. This is fine.

BB-8 already has their pincers attached to one of his belt loops and is putting all their might into dragging Poe further into the base.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re stronger than you look?”

BB-8 ignores him. Huh. Maybe this is worse than he thought.

“You know anything about those kids?”

They drop him as close to the wall as they can and rolls to the other side of the room. Poe sits up, slowly, against the wall.

“C’mon, Bee, say something. I don’t want to die with you mad at me.”

He says it in jest (mostly) but BB-8 screeches a string of profanities at him and drags an aged medkit over to him.

And with one of their pincers, tugs the tails of Poe’s shirt from his pants. When the shirt won’t stay up, BB-8 takes it upon themself to tear the shirt open, ripping the seems and popping the buttons off.

“Hey, this is one of my favorite shirts!” But Poe can feel himself starting to sweat, his hands starting to shake. He’s never seen BB-8 like this. Ever. “You’re having kittens by the litter here and I’m as cool as a dead star…”

He trails off. Maybe that was a poor choice of words.

With his shirt torn open, Poe is able to see how bad it is, and kriffing hell is it bad. This definitely isn’t like any stab wound he’s gotten before; his entire abdomen is mottled and turning gray, and the hole beneath his ribs is steadily oozing that black blood still. He cranes his neck. The wound is charred around the edges and smells exactly like that—like burned flesh. He can’t feel anything from the waist down.

BB-8 points their photoreceptor at it as if to say _See?!_

“Yeah, Beebee. Yeah. I think this is bad.”

BB-8 beeps in agreement and tells him they think the girl’s spearhead was coated in something poisonous. Something lethal. They’re definitely right.

He reaches for the antiquated medkit and throws the lid open. A syringe of painkillers, numbing spray, Bacta bandages, three different kinds of infection-preventing ointment, mild antibiotics. There’s nothing in here that should be; no scalpel, no cauterizer, and, because of course, no sample analyzer or diagnostic scanner. So not only is he not able to figure out what kind of poison he’s got in him, he can’t even begin to treat it. He is well and truly fucked.

“This isn’t gonna work,” he murmurs, picking up the roll of Bacta bandages and handing them to BB-8. “This isn’t gonna kriffing work, pal. This is the worst medkit I’ve ever seen.”

BB-8 holds out the comlink and tells him to call Finn, to call Rey, to call the _fucking general_. (Their words, not his)

_Finn._ Oh, stars.

BB-8 wastes no time squeezing a more than generous amount of ointment onto the gaping wound and adhering the Bacta bandages amid the blood and pus and whatever-the-fuck-else is seeping from him. And _oh_. There’s that pain he’s been waiting for. It’s sharp and all-encompassing and grabs him like a vice around his middle, his ribcage, makes his breath stutter in his chest.

BB-8 coos apologetically.

Poe swallows a groan clawing its way up his throat. The comlink bites into his palm and he loosens his grip once the pain passes its peak and dulls into a delightful burning/throbbing combination.

“That’s fine, buddy. You know I hate painkillers anyway.”

BB-8 asks him again what they should do. Poe tells them he still doesn’t know.

He can’t fly, that’s for damn sure. He could have BB-8 pilot from their socket, sure, but Poe isn’t sure he’d even last the trip, and no one else back at the base has enough fuel to make it here.

He drops his head against the wall.

BB-8 tells him again to make contact.

“Yeah. I think I’ll do that. You got an Imagecaster on you?”

The small disk is deposited into Poe’s awaiting hand and he pairs the device to his comlink. His shake worse than before. BB-8 chirps. They ask what they should do.

“Nothing, Bee,” Poe’s eyes burn. “I don’t think there’s anything either of us can do, unless you can transform into a fully-equipped med droid.”

They let out a very human-like cry. Poe closes his eyes and calls Finn.

He doesn’t answer at first, and every second feels like a lifetime. _Come on, man. Pick up._

“Poe!”

He opens his eyes. Finn beams at him from the little Imagecaster, blue and fuzzy, but there. He’s here. Not in the flesh, but good enough.

“Sorry it took me so long to pick up. I needed Rose’s help to connect the comlink to a holoprojector. She knows tech better than I do.”

Poe closes his eyes against a sudden, sharp wave of pain, and turns the ‘caster away from his face. Maybe the Bacta is working its magic. Pain is supposed to be a good sign right? Isn't that what his mom always told him? That pain was a sign of healing?

“Oh, hey, Beebee-Ate! How's the supply run going?”

Trying his hardest not to make a sound, Poe ends up choking into his sleeve, and every hacking cough leaves a rattle in his lungs that scares the Bantha fodder out of him. His mouth tastes funny too.

BB-8, bless them, chatters away with Finn, holding his attention, keeping him distracted. What a good fucking droid.

“Poe, you there? We need a translator here.”

Poe hits his head against the wall once more for good measure and faces the holo back on him. He grimaces against the throbbing overtaking him from abdomen to sternum and tries to play it off as a smile.

“Haven’t Rey and I taught you enough Binary to understand them?”

Finn leans back and spins around in the chair he’s in. He briefly dips out of frame.

“Yeah, yeah. Not a lot of it stuck, though.”

Poe laughs. It feels like a knife twisting in his guts and dragged upwards.

“Poe? You okay? Are you hurt?”

If BB-8 had eyebrows, they’d be to their hairline. If they had a hairline. Ah, fuck. He feels terrible. He feels like he’s dying.

Which…

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m good.”

He doesn’t want to tell Finn what’s going on because if he does, Finn will panic, and then Poe will panic, and there’s no point in that, because nothing can be done.

_Nothing can be done._ This is going to be the last time he’s going to see Finn, to talk to him.

And he’s going to end it on a good note.

“So what are you guys up to?”

Finn brightens. Poe relaxes. BB-8 rolls around nervously.

Finn tells him this awful joke Snap came up with, and laughs for what has to be ten minutes after Poe tells him he’s heard it already. Finn beams through a recount of his lesson with Rey that morning. He shows Poe some new techniques they practiced, mimicking holding a lightsaber. It’s cute. It would warm Poe to his very bones were he not colder than ice.

He’s cold. Shivering. That’s—

“Hey, are you listening?”

His gaze has drifted somewhere skyward, and his grip on the Imagecaster got a little too lax. Finn’s got that awful wrinkle between his eyebrows, and he’s leaning too far in as if to physically crawl through the transmission to be at Poe’s side. 

He can’t tell him.

“Sorry,” he clears his throat. It burns, like whatever’s happening to the wound on his gut is making its way up his body. He already can’t feel his legs, what’s next? “What were you saying?”

Finn settles back into his chair, but the wrinkle stays. Poe wants nothing more than to reach out and smooth it with the pad of his thumb like he’s done so many times before.

“I was trying to tell you about the lunch Karé made, but you spaced out. Was the trip okay? Have you eaten since you landed? You got enough sleep last night, right? Of course you did, I was right there, you slept like a baby—”

“Finn,” he laughs despite himself, despite the pain, despite everything. He grips the damned hole below his ribs with a hand that should hurt, but doesn’t. His gray-tinged fingers disappear into the red, black blood, now reaching the ground under him, with a horrible squelch. “Take a breath, huh? I’m fine. Promise. Tell me about this lunch Karé made. It didn’t involve veg-meat, did it? She can do some crazy stuff with that shit.”

“_Yes_. Holy—Poe, you should’ve been there. It was awful. We saved you some for when you get back.”

Poe ignores the way his heart clenches at that.

Finn talks for a while longer, about nothing, about everything, and Poe listens with as much of his waning attention as he can muster. He feels himself losing focus, his strength slowly bleeding out of him with the rest of the blood he’s losing. Eventually BB-8 rolls back on over from where they were sorting through the supplies he was supposed to take back to base and holds Poe’s arm up for him with one of their pincers. Poe could cry at the gesture

Finn talks to Poe like he hasn’t seen him in a month instead of just a few days. Poe is the same, always itching to see Finn’s face or hear his voice the minute they’re out of each other’s sights. That’s probably not exactly the healthiest but, well. That’s just them. They’ve been through enough to warrant some clinginess.

(Hell, Rey can barely stand to be away from Rose for more than a night at a time. At least they’re not _that_ bad)

“And then Threepio _kicked_ Chewie and ran from the room! You should’ve seen Leia’s face, Poe! I thought she was gonna pass out from how hard she was trying not to laugh!”

Poe’s lost feeling up to his shoulders now. BB-8 is using two pincers to hold his arm steady, shivering like a nervous animal. He doesn’t hurt anymore, he doesn’t think. But he’s freezing cold, and his head feels heavy like it does after a night of drinking. But not in the pleasant, buzzed way. Like if he blinks too long his eyes might not open again.

He feels like he could drop off at any moment now. Into sleep or something worse.

“I love you, Finn.”

Finn clamps his mouth shut, cutting off whatever he was rambling about, and grins at Poe.

He's blue. And fuzzy. But he's so, so bright.

Poe can almost see the color in his cheeks.

“Yeah,” all the excitement is gone from his voice now, replaced by something more soft and serious. Something he usually saves for Poe. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

Poe’s head feels too heavy for his neck, and he rests it on his shoulder. Finn cocks his own head, mirroring Poe.

“You okay?”

Still so soft, his eyes focused on Poe like he’s the only one in the galaxy.

Poe can do no more than hum.

He’s not okay.

not even sure if Finn heard him. 

“I think you need some sleep.”

Yeah.

BB-8 moans, shaking Poe’s arm.

The rattle in his chest is louder with every breath. The blood drenching him has dried cool and sticky. 

He’s—

He

He watches Finn.

Finn watches him back.

He doesn’t know

doesn’t know how much time passes.

Maybe an hour, maybe a minute.

Finn says: “What are you doing?”

Poe breathes. Or

tries to.

He’s so tired.

Eventually, he says: “Taking one last look.”

BB-8 warbles. Poe doesn’t know what they say

He thinks it was loud enough for Finn to hear. He thinks—

Poe’s eyes open. When did they close?

Finn straightens. Face drops. Saying

something.

His eyes—

“Poe? What do mean? Poe? Poe!”

—close.

“Poe, damnit, look at me!”

He does.

Finn’s eyes are wide. Wild. His chair is knocked over. He’s standing.

_Finn knows Finn knows Finn knows_

He's so damn tired.

“Poe! Jess, I need his coordinates. Now.”

_You don't have any fuel, buddy._

_I was supposed to get you some._

“No, where’s Rey? Someone get her We have to go.”

"Stay there. Finn. Stay."

He doesn't think Finn heard him. Too busy yelling at anyone who will listen.

He thinks Leia is in the room. can't be sure, though.

Finn, again. Mouth slack. He looks horrified.

"Hold on, Poe. We're gonna get you home."

He hums.

"Poe?" Softer. Just for him.

"Thank you. Love you."

Did he say that out loud? He hopes so.

“End transmission.”

“P—"

BB-8 ends the call and drops Poe’s arm. The comlink and Imagecaster fall to the ground.

“Bee. Want you. Go. Go home, huh?”

They chitter nervously. Sadly. Poe doesn’t know.

“Just come back for me.”

He thinks BB-8 asks him if he’ll wait.

can’t

He thinks about taking his necklace off, his mom's ring on an old chain that he keeps tucked beneath every shirt, but his hands won't work anymore.

BB-8 is holding the necklace out. It's smeared in blood from his scarf. From his mouth. They must've read his mind.

No, no. BB-8 knows. They remember. A conversation a long time ago.

Something like: _If I don't make it, I want you to give this to Finn, okay? Make sure he gets it._

His eyes close. When they open

BB-8 is gone

X-wing is gone too.

_Come back to me, okay?_

He will.

He’s going to.

Just not ali—

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ wastelandbucky on twitter so we can talk about how poe is going to live


End file.
